I wrote a poem for my kids' teachers to go with their end-of-year appreciation gifts. I'd like to extend its sentiments to all teachers. Why? Because teachers are freaking saints, that's why.
I'd rather eat a crunchy toenail
Or spend the night in a chicken coop
Put Icy Hot on a hemorrhoid
Or step barefoot in elephant poop
I'd rather watch a C-span marathon
Without ever going to pee
Or put on a stranger's dirty gym socks
(that are totally infested with fleas)
I'd rather find half a worm in my apple
Or trap a mosquito in my ear
Give an elderly person an iPhone tutorial
Or brush my teeth with warm beer
I'd be first in line to sit naked
On a pile of giant squids
Before I'd ever want to spend eight hours a day
With other. people's. kids.
Seriously. It takes such a special person to be a teacher. My oldest has been working on multiple year-end projects lately, and our nights have been filled with making costumes for a wax museum project, constructing charts on urban farming, and molding Roman coins out of polymer clay (gigantic, messy pain in the arse, in case you're wondering). This weekend, he has to build a diorama. I'm exhausted and over it.
4. More. Days. Of. School.
I love helping my kids with projects. But if I had to conjure that kind of enthusiasm every single day for 20 (or more) kids who weren't even mine? Nope. I'd need a straightjacket.
I spent the afternoon with a sweet friend of mine earlier this week who is a teacher. Just hearing the struggles that she and her colleagues face--on top of the gargantuan task of keeping a classroom full of children motivated to learn--fully convinced me that teachers should make *at least* as much as NFL players. And they don't even get to wear a helmet. Pssshhhh.
So for all the teachers out there: hear me now. I see you. Your selflessness and dedication do not go unnoticed. You are changing the world, and I am so grateful for all of you.
In between workshops and staff development and continuing education hours, of course.